One More Year
by Corkrose
Summary: Christmas Fic for Patano! On Christmas Eve of 1918, Sybil and Tom find a moment together to talk. Will they steal a kiss?


_Merry Christmas to Patano! I had so much fun writing this!_

_Prompt: In a period after Season 1 and before they got together in 2x07, Sybil and Tom stole a moment together during Christmas and kiss/almost kiss!_

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><p><em>Christmas Eve 1918<em>

I shiver as I hug my coat closer to my body. I can see my breath in the early morning air and the frost on the neatly trimmed grass of the vast estate. I admire the pinkish hue of the December sky as he stares across the lawn. My eyes stop upon a figure walking toward the garage.

I get closer before saying her name, "Sybil."

She turns to me, a messy braid and pink cheeks, with a far-off distant look. "Tom," she whispers.

I look at her attire, a nightgown and a dressing robe under her open coat. "What are you doing here?" I ask softly. I notice her shudder, "Here, you must be freezing. Come inside."

I bring her around the garage to my cottage, motion her inside, and begin to build a fire. "Have a seat," I say warmly.

She sits. "What are you doing here? It's Christmas Eve. Won't your family be missing you?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." She stands quickly.

I cross to her and put my hand on her arm. It's like an electric light turning on. "No, please. You're always welcome here. I just don't want you to be caught here early in the morning." I feel my heart race as I look her over, trying to place what her intent is in being here. "Please, say what you came here to say."

I feel my breath hitch as our eyes lock and she sinks back into his chair. "What is that?" she motions toward the package I just set down.

I smirk, "A Christmas present from my mother."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I haven't opened it yet." I move to open the package without breaking eye contact. My breathing is shallow. This situation is very intimate-she is only in her nightclothes and we are in my home in the early morning light. I am sure that if she was to light a match at this instant the air around us would burst into flames.

I pull a rocking chair to face her and rip the brown paper on the package, revealing a knit scarf and a photograph. "May I see?" she asks tentatively.

With shaky hands, I hold the photograph out between them. She thumbs the edge of the photograph gently. "Who is that?" She asks softly, reverently.

I look at the light flickering across her face. "It's-it's my niece. She was born a couple of months ago."

"It must be really hard living away from your family-missing so much."

Her slender fingers meet where mine are clutching the photograph. I jump up. "Would you like some tea?"

She smiles to herself, so briefly I almost miss it. "Yes, that would be nice." She pauses and I feel her eyes baring on to my back. "So do you miss your family?"

I suddenly realize that she is not asking about my family but hers. I turn my head to face her. "I do, but I could not find good work in Ireland. I knew my future lied in England." I keep my eyes locked to hers, "I knew if I ever wanted my own life-independence, I had to get away from my family."

For a moment, she simply sits staring at me and quickly looks away. I continue making our tea and sit across from her while the water is boiling. After a long moment, she looks at me. "Tom?"

"Hm?"

"I'm going to stop playing coy. You have told me you love me and you want to marry me. I just need to know why."

I'm taken aback. She has never come out and acknowledged our relationship so blatantly. "Why?" I ask.

"Yes. Why?" She says firmly. "Why do you love me instead of one of the servants? Or Edith? Or Mary? Or some girl back in Ireland? You say you love me, but I can't understand why you love me over anyone else. There's a whole world of women who you could love, and yet you say you love me." She takes a breath and gives me a pleading look, "Why me?"

I smile sadly, "I have clearly done an awful job of showing my affections if it isn't obvious by now."

She takes my hands, "Tom, this is nothing against you. It is difficult for me to comprehend that you as a passionate, radical socialist would be willing to risk your livelihood for the silly daughter of an Earl."

I stroke her hands with my thumbs, "My beautiful darling, it is hard for me to convey the depth of my love in simple words, but you must have no idea the effect you have on me. Most women I meet are either too conventional-not willing to believe in something because it would be hard to fight for-or too radical-over identifying with her belief system-which I too am guilty of. You, however, despite your upbringing, are willing to fight for change despite the discomfort that it causes you. You are smart and privileged, but still can understand the position of those less fortunate than you-"

I take her hands and lead her to the small window across the room. "This-out there-is your prison, but you've still managed to do so much. I know you can do more-be more than just someone's wife..."

I look at her face trying to gauge her expression. It's unreadable. I tip her chin to see her face. "But it's not only your intelligence and potential which makes me love you. It's that you are kind and when I am around you my heart sores. Being a chauffeur is lonely work, but every time you would visit me, it made my grey days bright. Sybil, you make me want to be a better person, but I also want what is best for you, and I don't think what's best for you is living here. You're family doesn't understand your talents. I don't pretend to think that I can offer the best life-I don't have money or land-but I hope that I can allow you to live your life..."

Her eyes are wide and soft. She puts her hands on my chest, "Tom, I-I-" She takes a deep breath as I move my hands to cup her cheeks. Her forehead leans against mine. "Tom," she breathes.

I feel bold. My heart is on fire. I kiss her cheek. She exhales. I kiss her other cheek. Once more, she barely says my name. "_Tom_."

It's happening. Her lips are moving for mine. I feel the light brush of her lips before the tea kettle screeches. She pulls away. She looks out the window. The sun is up now.

She fidgets with her hands. "I should be going. People will be wondering where I am."

"Right," I say, my heart sinking.

I take the kettle off the stove, help her into her coat, and walk her to the door. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow," I say.

"Yes," she says with a small smile.

I begin to turn away from her, but she throws her arms around my neck and buries her face in my neck. "Thank you," she whispers. And before she runs off, she kisses my cheek.

I laugh to myself as I sit back down. _One more year_, I say to myself, _everything will be different in just one more year._

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><p><em>One year later<em>

"My darling, I hope you never doubt how much I love you," I say as I stroke Sybil's swollen belly, "or your mother."

She leans up against me and kisses my cheek. "Tom, I do love you so very much."

"I know, love," and I smile as I feel our little life underneath my palm.


End file.
